All in the Game
by CD57
Summary: A bunch of teenagers have stolen some items from the synagogue and Don wants them back
1. Chapter 1

**Title**:** All in the Game**

**Author**: CD57

**Genre**: Gen

**Characters**: Don, Alan, David and Colby

**Rating**: PG 13+ / T

**Summary**: _A bunch of teenagers steal some items from the synagogue._

**A/N:** written for Clue Challenge #6, December 2009 at **hurt_don**. Prompts: **Who?** - Don. **What?** - menorah. **Where?** - temple/synagogue. This challenge just triggered something I was unable to stop. It's my first Numb3rs fic, so I'm a little bit nervous! Thanks to BadgerGater and Aleo_70 for the beta.

**Disclaimer**: Nah, they're not mine. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense.

* * *

**ALL IN THE GAME  
**

_**9 candles **__- needed for the Chanukah menorah_

_**8 days **__- to light the candles_

_**4 teenagers **__- taking something that doesn't belong to them_

_**1 dreidel **__- to win the game_

* * *

"David!" Alan Eppes greeted the co-worker of his oldest son. With the kitchen towel he was carrying Alan dried off his hands as he gestured for the other man to come inside. "Are you looking for Don? He isn't here."

"No, he's out there, trying to find a bunch of teenagers." Special Agent David Sinclair stepped in the hallway of the Craftsman house and followed Alan into the living room. "Actually, I came here to see Charlie. Is he here?"

"No, you just missed him," the older man replied. "He yelled something about too much data for his laptop and rushed off. He had his laptop under his arm and totally forgot his jacket… You know how he gets when he's all worked up. I assume he went to CalSci."

David grinned, the picture of Charlie running away like that was actually easy to bring to mind. "Okay, then I just have to head over there. He's working on something for us."

Alan shrugged. "That figures. Does it have anything to do with those teenagers?"

"What teenagers?" David asked in surprise, thinking about their suspect Mulder, a middle-aged man.

Alan placed the kitchen towel on the table then tilted his head to glance at the agent. "You just mentioned that Don was looking for some teenagers."

Sinclair's face lit up. "Oh. Right. I did. But no, that has got nothing to do with our case."

Alan looked puzzled.

"Don is trying to help out the Rabbi," David explained. "Apparently some kids have stolen some items from the synagogue, probably a presumptuous act."

"Ah." Alan nodded in understanding. His son was a frequent visitor of the synagogue and spent quite some time with the Rabbi. It was only natural that he was trying to help.

"Actually, now that I'm here, can I ask you something?" David asked. At Alan's nod he continued. "Amongst the items that were missing was something called the Chanukah menorah. From what I understood it is some sort of candle holder, which is needed during a celebration that starts in a couple of days. When I asked Don about it, he just gave me the short version, like he didn't want to go into details. When I asked Charlie some time later, I got an even more strange response. As if he was embarrassed or something."

Alan looked at David and gave him a wry smile. "I'm going to get a coffee. You want some?"

Thinking briefly, David decided to spend some more time now he'd gotten this far and nodded before following the other man into the kitchen.

"A menorah is indeed a candle holder… a candelabrum with seven branches. It was used in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. The Chanukah menorah however has eight branches, plus a special place for the _shamash_… " Alan had poured two cups of coffee, headed to the dining room and placed them on the table.

David gave a brief nod, sat down and wrapped a hand around the cup. "Thanks."

"My wife, Margaret," Alan continued while he took a seat opposite to David. "She… she was very good in those ancient traditions. She knew all the backgrounds, had a perfect way of explaining it to the boys and tried her best to keep them interested." His fingers clutched the mug as he stared into the cup, momentarily lost in his thoughts.

----

_ Alan was very tired when he came home that night. A project developer was pushing the department to finish some plans for a new residential area with a central park. He was responsible for both the play area for the children and the houses around it and had re-drawn those plans three times now. The final sketches would have to be ready first thing in the morning, which meant he had to go over them again at home._

_Alan normally didn't like to bring his work home. He liked to keep both worlds separated. Being home meant offering relief to Margaret, who was pretty busy with her job as a lawyer and raising Don and Charlie. Especially Charlie, who was turning out to be a handful with his special gift._

"_Hi, honey," Margaret greeted him as she stepped out of the kitchen. "You look beat. Are you okay?"_

_Alan took off his coat and wearily put it away. "Yeah, I'm fine." He placed his briefcase with the blueprints sticking out on both sides on the floor next to his favorite chair before stepping closer to give his wife a kiss. "There's just this big rush on this project."_

_He didn't miss her glance at the plans he had brought home. "I know, I know," he apologized. "I'm sorry, but these need to be handed in tomorrow and I really ought to look at them closely, just to see we didn't screw up with the rushed adjustments we were forced to make today."_

"_All right," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Tell you what… dinner is in the oven. Why don't you sit down and do your stuff while I keep the boys busy with lighting the candles and a game of dreidel."_

_He gave her a smile, realizing again what a wonderful woman he had married. He was about to tell her so when loud, quick steps made him turn just in time to catch his youngest son, who'd come running down the stairs and simply threw himself in his father's arms. "Daddy! You're home!"_

"_Hi, there, buddy." Alan's face lit up as he cuddled with his son, ruffling through his curly hair in a loving way before putting the five-year old boy back on his feet on the floor. "How was your day?"_

"_Good, good!" Charlie jumped from one foot to the other with excitement. "Can we play now?"_

_Alan shook his head. "Not now, Charlie," he replied with regret. _

"_Charlie, go and get Don," Margaret stepped in. "Daddy has some work to do so we are going to light the candles with the three of us and play dreidel."_

_Charlie pouted. "Not wanna play dreidel, mom. Don always wins."_

_Margaret gave her son a smile. "Well, then we should try real hard to beat him tonight, right? Go on, hurry now. We need to get started, it's almost sundown."_

_As Charlie ran off to get Don, Margaret gently pushed her husband towards the chair. "I'll get you a beer."_

_Alan sat down, opened his briefcase and took out the blueprints, spreading them across the coffee table. With a "thanks, love," he took the proffered beer and concentrated on the first drawing on the table._

_He was interrupted again as Charlie and Don came down. _

"_Hi, dad," Don greeted him casually._

"_Hey, Donnie," Alan looked up. His oldest son was growing up so fast. With the blue jeans, the dark colored, hooded sweatshirt with a baseball print on the front and his dark, ruffled hair that was too long to be short but too short to be long Don was starting to look more and more like a teenager._

"_Da-ad," the boy whined. "Don't call me that." _

_Right. He really should stop calling his son Donnie now he was growing up, but he was so used to that name. Plus, it had such a nice ring to it. It sounded more precious and tender and it gave him the feeling of being able to keep his son close to him forever. He let out a sigh. "Sorry, son. How was school?"_

"_Okay, I guess," Don replied with a shrug. Then his eyes lit up. "Have I already told you I get to play in the baseball final this year?"_

_Alan was about to respond when Charlie jumped in front of him, his little hands already going into the direction of his plans. "Wow!" the younger boy called out. "Cool, dad! Can I help?"_

_Grabbing his son around the waist, Alan quickly pulled the boy back. "No, son, thank you."_

"_But daddy, there's all numbers on it. I wanna help." Charlie struggled to free himself as Alan moved him further from the table._

_Don stepped closer, placing an arm around his younger brother as their father let go. "Come on, buddy. Dad is busy. We're going to sit at the dining table." _

_With gratitude, Alan watched how Don led Charlie away before turning his attention back to the task at hand. While he concentrated on his blueprints, he registered his family getting ready for the Chanukah ritual. Margaret had taken the menorah from the window and brought it to the table as the boys argued about whose turn it was to light the candles. _

"_Don't fight over this," he heard Margaret attempt to stop their sons from arguing. "This is the third day, so it is Don's turn. Charlie, your turn is tomorrow, remember?"_

_Alan grinned. Despite their agreement on who got to light the candles on which day of the holiday, Charlie objected to it. Apparently, Margaret had convinced him to wait for his turn, however, as Charlie didn't utter another sound. Glancing over his shoulder, Alan watched how Don lit the shamash in the middle. _

"_Good job, sweetie," Margaret said to Don then she looked at Alan. _

_He nodded, realizing she wanted him to say the first prayer. "Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel chanukah."_

_His oldest then carefully took the shamash and used it to light the three candles on the right, starting with the left one, just as they had taught him._

"_Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha'olam, she'ashah nisim l'avoteinu, bayamim ha'heim, bazman hazeh_,"_ Margaret softly spoke the second prayer._

"_Mommy?" Charlie's voice was almost as soft as his mother's. "What does that mean?"_

"_It's a blessing, sweetie," Margaret explained. "A blessing to the Holy One."_

"_Why?" the little boy wanted to know._

"_It is __a 'thank you'. For teaching us this ritual and for all the miracles given to us and our ancestors."_

"_What are enchestors?" Charlie asked again as he struggled with the word._

"_Our great-great-great-grandparents, buddy," Don replied. "This celebration is to remember that a long, long time ago our people won a war against the Greeks and got the Holy Temple in Jerusalem back. Right, mom?"_

"_That's right, Don," Margaret nodded. _

_Alan could hear in her voice that she was proud of her son. He had to agree, apparently Don had been paying attention during those rituals the previous years. He vaguely heard her explain to Charlie about the miracle that occurred upon the re-dedication of the Temple, that the one-day supply of olive-oil to keep the menorah flames going had miraculously lasted for eight days._

_It was hard to concentrate on his plans, as he heard Charlie object. "That's not possible. There was not enough oil. You can calculate how long it will last."_

"_Yet it lasted longer, honey," Margaret answered patiently, but Alan still heard Charlie objecting._

"_Buddy," Don kindly interrupted his brother, "that's why it's called a miracle. Can we play now?"_

_Alan sighed. It was hard to argue with a five-year old to begin with, but when that five-year old could easily make complicated calculations and form equations and formulas in his head without scribbling them down, arguing became next to impossible. He greatly admired his wife and Donnie for their patience with the youngest of the family. When he realized that the coins for the game were being divided and that the dreidel was spinning for the first time, he dragged himself back to the city plans and concentrated on the design of the park._

_----_

David had listened in silence. Sipping from his coffee, he looked at Alan. "Okay, so this special menorah holds eight candles, resembling those eight days from the miracle in the Holy Temple."

"Actually, it holds nine candles," Alan explained. "The one in the middle is placed higher. That's for the _shamash, _which means server, or helper. That's the first candle that you light and you use that one to kindle the others."

"Ah, okay." The seven-branched candle holders were kind of familiar to David, he'd seen them in the stores, but he couldn't remember ever seeing one with nine. "And this 'dreidel'? What kind of game is that?"

"Well, it starts with giving each player the same amount of coins. Margaret always had chocolate coins for the kids, which they could eat on the last day. Instead of ten, we always used seven coins each, so the game didn't last too long for them to lose interest. Anyway, after everybody places one coin in the center pot, each player spins the dreidel."

Alan paused to finish his coffee, then continued his explanation. "The dreidel is a spinner with four sides. There's a Hebrew letter painted on each side, the letters are the Nun, the Gimel, the Hei and the Shin. Together they represent a phrase, referring back to the miracle with the olive oil, '_Nes Gadol Haya Sham'_, which means '_A great miracle happened there'_. More coffee?"

After David's nod, Alan got up and poured them another cup. He sat down again. "Now, based on which letter turns up when you spin it, the player either loses or gains coins. The Nun stands for nothing, so your turn is just over. The Hei means half, so you get half of what is in the pot. The Shin means put, so you need to add another coin to the center. The Gimel means all, that's the one you want, because then you get everything from the pot."

"So you mentioned Don won this game often?" David asked.

Alan tilted his head to look at the other man. "Yes. For some reason, luck was always on Donnie's side during this game. That's why Charlie didn't particularly like playing it. Even at the age of five, he was applying math to the outcome of the spinning process. He tried to calculate the chance of the Gimel coming up several times in a row."

David laughed. "But the outcome didn't match reality."

Alan shook his head and rolled his eyes. "No. He probably didn't take enough variables into account, like the surface of the table, the position of the players, the draft coming through the doors…. Despite the statistical improbability, Donny kept winning."

"So, what happened?" From the way Alan was staring into nothing with his mind obviously in the past, David guessed there was more to this story than he'd been told so far.

_----_

_ Alan had about half of his work on the plans done when the sounds coming from the dining table slowly started to draw his attention back to the game._

"_Donnie! You can't spin the Gimel again. You had it three times in a row! That can't be, that can't be!" Charlie sounded agitated._

"_Charlie, calm down," Margaret tried to reason. "This is a game which requires luck, not numbers."_

"_Numbers don't lie, mom. This is not possible."_

"_Yeah?" Don asked in a taunting way. "Sorry, buddy. Luck is on my side today."_

"_Come on, Charlie, let go of the pot. It goes to Don and then we go for another round," Margaret said. _

"_No! It can't be!"_

"_Charlie!"_

_The sound of something falling, followed by the sharp outcry of his wife made Alan sit up straight. He quickly turned around. From the corner of his eye he saw Charlie throwing his chair backwards and running out of the room. Dimly, he was aware of Margaret's eyes which were wide with shock. The immediate source of his attention was the menorah. It was lying on its side and had set the Persian table rug on fire. Donnie had already jumped up and quickly folded the rug, frantically attempting to stop the fire by slapping at the back. _

_Alan didn't remember ever having moved that fast. He rushed into the kitchen, snatched the fire-extinguisher from its holder and ran back. _

_Margaret had gotten to her feet and had moved a few steps back from the table. Donnie's attempts at controlling the fire by folding the rug had been successful and Alan just sprayed until the last of the flames were gone._

_He set the fire extinguisher within reach on the table and looked at Margaret. She kept looking at the burned rug on the table until she seemed absolutely sure that the fire was out, then turned to leave. "I'm going to have a talk with Charlie."_

_Alan just nodded and concentrated on controlling his breathing before he gently patted his oldest son on the shoulder. "Good job, Donnie. Good job."_

_Don stood there, staring at the black, still smoking spot on the table and the remnants of the rug. "Yeah," he replied absently._

_Alan regarded him, then followed his gaze to the table. He heard his wife talking to Charlie and it was clear that she was very upset with their youngest son. He also didn't fail to notice some chocolate coins that lay scattered over the floor. "Charlie did this?"_

"_Yeah," was Don's only response._

"_Why don't you sit down for a while, Donnie," Alan suggested. "I'll clean this up before mom comes down."_

_----_

"Wow," David commented. "So Charlie had knocked over the menorah with the burning candles."

"Yes. Not on purpose, of course. He was upset with the game and threw his coins over the table. We were very lucky with Don's immediate reaction. He managed to keep the fire under control. It still gives me the shivers. We could have easily had a much bigger fire if it weren't for him."

"It must have been a scary moment," David said. "Now I know why they both were reluctant to talk about this holiday,."

"My wife was pretty upset with Charlie," Alan continued. "See, you must know that she had never raised her voice to him until that evening. I just let them be for a while and simply cleaned up the mess. I figured Donnie needed some time, he seemed pretty rattled. So I got another shock when I found him, in the bathroom, holding his hands under the tap."

"He burned himself?" David asked in surprise.

"And failed to tell me, yes." Alan shrugged. "He just stood there. He was in a considerable amount of pain, even had tears rolling down his cheeks. His palms looked awfully red and blistered and I ended up in the ER with him that night where they treated him for second degree burns on both of his hands."

David stared at the older man. "Why didn't he say something?"

"I asked him that same question, later that evening when I was driving him home. You know what he said?" Alan shook his head in dismay. "That he was afraid it would upset his mother even more than she already was. That he was afraid she would get angrier with Charlie if she knew about Donnie hurting his hands. That Charlie was only five, that it wasn't his fault. That it was his, for winning, so he didn't want us to know."

"Always looking after Charlie," David mumbled.

"Luckily, his hands healed without scarring," Alan completed his story with a sad smile on his face. "Although with those burns, Donnie was unable to play in that final baseball game that year. So Margaret brought a Christmas tree to the house, just to cheer him up. It was the last time we celebrated Chanukah."

**-12E4567890-**


	2. Chapter 2

Special Agent Don Eppes parked his SUV, after letting Control know where they were and got out. He'd been driving around with Colby, asking questions in the neighborhood about the teenagers that had been hanging around the Temple the last couple of days.

The four boys, according to the people they'd spoken to, varied in age from fourteen to sixteen. Apparently they had been causing some trouble in the area at locations where they gathered, playing loud music and drinking cans of sodas which they left scattered around. It was also suspected that they did their share of destroying things like fences, garbage cans, public signs and other stuff some kids couldn't resist pulling down, tossing over or breaking apart.

The description they'd obtained from several people matched the one the Rabbi had given Don. It seemed they had a few kids on their hands with serious control issues and apart from the need of getting the stolen items from the synagogue back, it wouldn't hurt to scare them a little bit before diverting them to one of the local youth centers rather than charging them.

Don secretly grinned at the thought; Colby was just the perfect guy to put some fear into those kids. He was sure the younger man would enjoy his role. "Ready?"

Colby came around the SUV and nodded at his boss. "Let's have a talk with them, huh."

They'd found the teenagers gathered on a square with nothing but old warehouses around it. The four were at first unaware of their approach, which likely had something to do with the iPod in a portable dock cranked up on high, playing something with a heavy beat and a low voice rattling all kind of phrases. The kids had some boxes and bags stuffed in front of them, a couple of drinks stashed on top of one of the boxes.

Finally, they were alerted by the two men walking up to them. The tallest one of the teenagers sluggishly bent forward and turned the volume down a few notches.

Colby held up his badge. "FBI, kids. This is Special Agent Don Eppes and my name is Colby Granger. We have a few questions."

"Yeah? About what," one of the kids with a pair of jeans barely hanging around his hips and showing most of his boxers, asked.

"For starters, there's been a few complaints against you which we'd like to sort out," Don explained. "Then we have reason to believe you were involved in raiding the Jewish Temple. The Rabbi reported some items were stolen and he really would like to have those back, as they are important to the community."

"So, how about we start with what's in those boxes," Colby said.

Before he'd even finished his sentence, one of the kids slammed an arm through the cans, knocking them flying. Using the short distraction, they all started running in different directions, one of the boys grabbing one of the bags in the process.

Don heard Colby calling out to them to halt and registered from the corner of his eye how his partner took off to the right as he sprang into a run to the opposite side. Two of the kids were heading that way and subconsciously, Don concentrated on the one who'd grabbed the bag.

The kids rushed through the street and disappeared around the corner. Don picked up the pace but stopped to throw a quick glance around the corner for his own safety before he continued his chase. One of the kids he could still see but since he was more interested in the other, he wondered where he'd gone. A door moving to his right gave him the answer to that, the boy had entered one of the empty warehouses, possibly to get rid of the bag and find a hiding place for himself.

Knowing that if they managed to catch two, they would soon have the others, Don decided to let the first boy go and followed the one that had fled into the warehouse. The kid had gone upstairs, so Don took the steps two at the time, reaching the second floor in no time.

He stood still to listen and knew where to go next. This boy either had grown up with no brothers and sisters or was just plain bad at the 'hide' part of hide-and-seek. Going through a few empty rooms, Don soon saw the teenager moving, the bag still in one hand.

"Hey, kid, stop! Don't make this any harder than it is," he called out as he closed in on the running boy.

The boy threw a doubtful look over his shoulder before disappearing into another room.

A squeaking sound followed by a sharp gasp made Don rush forward even faster. He realized what was happening before he even saw it. The kid stood still, a terrified expression on his face. The floor of the room he'd stepped in was wooden, just like the rest of the warehouse, but here the wood had rotten away and the floor had holes in it. With the added weight of the boy, the whole section of floor was now threatening to collapse.

"Don't move," Don quickly ordered as he frantically took in his surroundings, looking for anything he could use.

The floor made another terrible grating noise. The boy screamed.

"Grab my hand!" Don yelled. He grabbed the door post with one hand, praying that it would be strong enough to hold his weight even as he bent forward, stretching out his hand as far as he could.

The floor trembled. The boy reached out his hand and their fingers touched. "Come on," Don urged, stretching himself a bit further. As his hand grasped the boy's wrist he yelled, "Jump!" and yanked on the boy's arm.

The force of Don's pull propelled the kid through the doorway to the other room, just as the door post gave away. The loss of his anchor made Don loose his balance and fall forward. The agent tried to break his fall with his left arm and managed to turn his head sideways, preventing his face from slamming into the floor. The force of the fall was the final straw for the damaged wood and the floor made another awful creaking sound then collapsed.

Don desperately tried to grab something to hold onto, but his clawing hands found nothing that wasn't also falling. Along with the wooden remnants, Don Eppes tumbled one floor down. The only thought that crossed his mind was the hope that the boy had made it, then he hit the ground and knew nothing more.

**-12E4567890-**

"Hold it, right there," Colby yelled, already knowing it as of no use as he burst into a sprint, dashing off to the right, following two of the kids. Trusting Don to go after the other two, Colby ran as fast as he could, determining which one of the kids would be his best chance as he went.

The hunt was on and Colby was a better runner than the boy and it didn't take him that long to reach the point where he was able to throw himself forward, effectively tackling the kid on the way down.

Grabbing the boy's arms, Colby cuffed him before getting up. Slapping the dust from his jeans, he took a moment to catch his breath, then ordered, "Get up."

With some trouble, the boy got his knees under him and then managed to stand up.

Colby read him his rights, grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back to where they came from, fully expecting Don to be waiting with one or two of the other boys.

Frowning, Colby saw nothing but the boxes the kids had left behind. He briefly wondered whether he should wait or go after Don, taking the kid with him. The decision was taken out of his hands when one of the other boys came running towards them, his hands raised as he waved and yelled, "Help! Help!"

Colby's gut clenched and he rushed forward, pushing the kid with the cuffs forward. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good for the teenager to come back willingly to get help. "What happened?"

"The other cop…" the boy stammered, pointing with his hand in the general direction of the warehouse. "He fell…"

"What? He fell, how?" Colby urged while he passed the boy, heading for the warehouse. He was suddenly very worried about his boss and wanted to get there as soon as possible.

The boy turned around and came running next to him. The kid was shaken to the core, that much was obvious. "Through the floor… He saved me."

Cursing, Colby grabbed his cell and dialed Control. While he kept pushing on, he appraised Control of their situation and requested backup and paramedics. They reached the warehouse and the boy stepped through the door before Colby could decide what to do with the kids.

"Come on, he's over here. He wasn't moving," the boy urged as he took point, leading the way through the warehouse.

"Hold on, I need to check if it's safe," Colby warned.

"No, come on," the kid insisted. "This floor seems fine. We were on the second floor."

"What's your name, kid?" Colby asked. He thought things would be much easier if he could address the boy by his name.

"Mike. Please, mister, I just want you to help him. He saved me." He pointed at a doorframe across the room they were in just now. "He's over there. There.. please, help him."

"All right, Mike…" Colby glanced at the other boy.

"That's Ruben," Mike offered.

"Mike and Ruben. Stay here, while I go and check my partner out, okay?" Colby had taken one glance at the mess of wood, plaster and trash that lay scattered over the floor and could barely recognize the person lying in the midst of it all. One look at the ceiling was all he needed to complete the picture. His need to go and check on Don was greater than securing the boys. If they ran, he would have to let them, they'd get them later. Don was his first priority.

Mike however made no attempt to run away. He pointed. "Careful. He's covered with fallen plaster, too."

Colby had already noticed that. He carefully maneuvered through the mess, scanning the area between Don and him for anything that could dislodge and do more damage. He was close, really close now and softly called out, "Don? Don, can you hear me?"

Don was lying face down between pieces of what once had been the first floor. His legs were covered with fallen plaster, his back and head were free, if you didn't count a layer of plaster dust. One arm lay at an awkward angle. Don's head was turned to the right, making it impossible for Colby to see his face.

Crouching down, Colby carefully started to remove the debris covering Don's legs. As soon as there was enough room he moved forward and knelt beside the prone man.

Gently, Colby pressed two fingers on the side of Don's neck. "He's alive," he told the kids with a sigh of relief. Bending forward, he listened to Don's breathing and was glad to find it didn't sound too compromised.

Taking his time now, he visually inspected his boss. Blood dribbled from nasty gashes on Don's head, arms and hands but Colby couldn't find injuries that were bleeding heavily, which meant he should leave everything alone until the paramedics arrived.

Gently, Colby rolled Don in the stable side position before using the time at hand to remove as much rubble from Don and from around him to make as much room as possible. "Mike," he asked, knowing it was a risk, but he didn't have many options and he wasn't about to leave Don alone. "Could you please get back to the main road and direct the paramedics this way? They have no idea which warehouse we're in and Agent Eppes really needs them, right now."

Mike nodded and turned to leave.

Ruben was about to follow, but Colby stopped him. "Ruben, you stay put." Ruben complied and sat down, leaning sideways against the wall.

A low moan drew his attention back to his boss and Colby quickly moved until he could see Don's face. "Don?"

He watched as Don's eye lids fluttered, followed by a slight tremor racking his body. Colby placed a hand on the fallen man's shoulder. "Easy, Don. Don't move."

"Colb?" Don's voice was rough, weak and barely audible.

"Yeah, I'm here. You took a bad fall, so keep still, okay? Medics are on their way."

"Kid?" Don's eyes shot wide open.

"The kid is fine. He didn't fall," Colby quickly reassured his boss. He noticed how Don's breathing hitched. "Keep breathing. Nice and easy." He watched as Don struggled to take small breaths. "Good job," he encouraged.

Slowly running his hands over Don's legs, Colby tried to find if anything felt broken. Reaching Don's left knee he quickly removed his hands at Don's sharp hiss. "Sorry."

"-s Okay." Don blinked a few times, as if attempting to get the dust out of his eyes.

Colby saw that his eyes were clouded with pain. Despite feeling bad about that, it also told him things were better than they could have been. Don was breathing on his own, seemed lucid and could still feel pain below the waist.

After falling one floor, that was actually not bad at all.

**-12E4567890-**

He was floating. Drifting, on a comfortable bed of soft, white clouds. As a kid, he'd wondered how it would feel, lying on the soft cotton wool that clouds seemed to be and letting the breeze take him away.

Now he knew. It felt pretty peaceful.

His mind was all fuzzy, like he was stuck somewhere in the middle of his dream, not ready to wake up just yet. He knew he should be wondering where he was and what was going on, but he just couldn't set himself to the task.

Drowsily, he continued floating, comforted by the warmth of the clouds. He felt pretty good.

Then the clouds broke apart and he plunged down, falling from the sky.

Sucking in air, it took Don a moment to realize he wasn't really falling. He heard a faint moan close by and wondered if it was him. There was a voice somewhere but he couldn't quite concentrate on it. He was too busy gasping for breath. The shock from the feeling of falling along with his confusion and the pain that started to flare up just about everywhere made it real hard to do anything else.

He just lay there, trying to get a grasp on things as he concentrated on taking one breath at a time.

Slowly his breathing evened out. The voice that had been trying to penetrate through to his confused mind was still there, talking to him insistently. It took him a little while longer but then he realized the voice had something familiar.

"Easy, Don. That's it." It sounded a lot like his dad and it appeared that he was talking softly to him. Come to think of it, he could now also feel a warm hand wrapped around his own. He tried to give his father a reassuring squeeze, but the only thing his hand seemed capable of doing was to tremble slightly.

"Can you wake up for me, son?"

_Definitely dad's voice, and he sounded worried, so he'd better wake up_. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. His father's face swam into his field of vision, blurry at first but getting clearer as he blinked again.

A smile appeared on his father's face. "Hey there. Glad you could join us."

He wasn't so sure about that. Opening his eyes had sent daggers through his skull, the pain overwhelming his senses. He was barely able to suppress the urge to suck in deep breaths, already having discovered that his chest didn't really appreciate that.

"Just breathe through it, Don," his dad told him. A thumb was running circles over the back of his hand. "The doctor is coming."

In and out. Surely he could do that. He'd been doing that for years. Blinking again he tried to remember what had happened to him and jerked painfully as he suddenly felt himself falling again.

"Shh. You can't fall now, Donnie. Keep still," his dad advised, the thumb never stopping drawing circles on his skin.

"I fell," he gasped, remembering the rotten floor in the warehouse.

"Yes, you did," Alan replied. "But you're going to be okay. You were very lucky."

As much as he liked to believe his father, Don didn't feel lucky at all. His skull felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside and there were more parts hurting on his body than he could count. His father must have sensed this, as he felt a slight squeeze in the hand.

"That's what you get for falling through a floor and crashing to the ground, Donnie. You gave us quite a scare, but trust me, it could have been much worse."

_Thanks for the visual, dad. _While he did recall falling as the door post gave away, he didn't remember actually falling one level down. "What's the damage?"

"Well, the left side of your body took the brunt of the fall. Looks like you attempted to break your fall with your left arm. It's broken, but will heal in time. Your shoulder was dislocated and has been set. You also have a couple of broken and cracked ribs, a concussion and a badly swollen knee."

Don frowned and glanced down. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that his left arm was in a cast. The arm was resting on a pillow and he could also see that his left leg was raised, probably by something that was propping up his knee.

"There was some swelling in your spine-cord, they said something about tissue damage but according to the doctors that is all healing properly. There was also some pressure around your lungs but they have already removed some fluids with a drain and it seems everything is healing on its own. It didn't require surgery. That's about it, if you don't count the number of superficial cuts and bruises."

Don shifted his head and caught his father's gaze. He could now see that his father was exhausted and felt sorry to be the cause of concern. "How long have I been out?"

"Almost two days."

A thought suddenly occurred to him and he tensed as he struggled to sit up but failed miserably. There had been a kid and he'd attempted to drag him away from the collapsing floor. "The boy?"

Alan smiled at him. "He's safe. From what he told me, you managed to throw him backwards just in time. I've met his parents as well. They came to wish you well and will come back to thank you for saving their son later."

"The items from the Temple…" Don asked. "Did they find them?"

"Yes, Donnie. They were in the bag the boy you rescued was carrying. David promised to return them to the Rabbi as soon as the items were cleared by forensics."

"Good." Don sagged, his sore muscles relaxing. At this point, knowing more details he could only agree with his father. He probably looked a mess, but he'd been lucky indeed.

His father patted his hand. "Those four boys were pretty shaken. Everything had just been a game to them. They never meant anything like this to happen and are all showing sincere regret for their actions. "

A faint smile appeared on Don's face. Those kids weren't lost yet, then. That was good news. He would make sure he got to talk to them at some point. For now, he was plain exhausted from the short conversation. His head slid sideways and he felt his eyes drifting shut. He felt sorry to leave his dad alone so soon, but a slow lethargy crept over him and he simply couldn't stop it.

"It's okay, Donnie," his father seemed to read his thoughts. "You just rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

That was a comforting thought. He figured he needed to work on his tough FBI agent image but for now he simply allowed the blackness to come and take him away.

**-12E4567890-**

It was early afternoon when Alan pulled into the driveway. "We're home, Don," he said softly. His son was resting with his head against the head rest and had his eyes closed.

"Donnie?" Alan repeated. He placed his hand on his son's thigh, giving a slight squeeze.

"Huh?" Wearily, Don opened his eyes. He slowly lifted his head and looked around in surprise.

"Let's get you inside," Alan decided. He unbuckled Don's seat belt. "You can get some more rest on the couch."

The door to the house opened and Charlie stepped outside, heading straight for the passenger side of Alan's car and opened the door. "You need a hand, bro?"

His brother gave a slight nod and took the proffered arm for support. Once out of the vehicle, their father moved to his other side and together Charlie and Alan carefully helped Don inside. Don's knee was still giving him trouble and would require more therapy but the agent was already able to put some weight on it.

A while later, the injured man was lying on the couch with his legs propped up, one pillow under his neck, one under his knee and an Afghan spread out over his body to keep him comfortable and warm. The trip home from the hospital had tired the agent out and he was fast asleep within minutes.

It was the smell of food coming from the kitchen that woke him up a couple of hours later. Blinking a few times to clear his thoughts, Don realized where he was.

"Hey." Turning his head in the direction of where the sound came from, Don saw his brother sitting in his father's chair with his legs pulled up in a crossed-legged position, using his lap as a rest for his laptop. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, buddy," Don reassured his brother. He was sore, stiff and felt like he could sleep for a week but he knew it would get better with time. At least he was home. A week in the hospital was more than enough for him.

"Yeah, I can see that," Charlie smirked.

Don shrugged, then winced as he moved to push the Afghan aside. He struggled to sit up straight, dragging his legs from the couch to the floor and then one-handedly pushed the pillow behind his back until he was comfortable. Sort of, anyway. "What's dad cooking?"

"Probably your favorite food," Charlie remarked. "David's here. Dad invited him."

"Yeah?" Don carefully raised his good arm and ran a hand through his hair. "Anything on the Mulder case?"

"Actually, I think there is some progress there, but dad is going to kill me if he hears me talking to you about work right now," Charlie apologized. "So forget about work for a few days, all right? I'm sure your team can handle things on their own for a while."

Don glared at his brother, wondering how he was going to get more information without upsetting his dad, but was interrupted in his thoughts as the door to the kitchen opened and Alan came in, followed by David.

"Don, you're awake," Alan smiled widely. "Look who's here for dinner."

"Hey, Don," David greeted his boss. "Slept well?"

"Yeah, I did. Everything all right?"

"No work-related discussions," Alan replied sternly before David could open his mouth.

David grinned. Alan in papa bear mode did have his moments. "Don't worry, Alan. We don't want to see him in the office for at least another week or two." Shifting his gaze from Alan to Don, he continued. "I came over to tell you that I've taken the menorah back to the synagogue."

Don sat up as straight as his body would allow him, holding his right arm under the sling against his tender ribs for support. "Yeah?"

David sat down. "The Rabbi was incredibly pleased to have it returned to the Temple. He wanted me to pass on his gratitude. He wishes you well and hopes to see you soon."

"Actually, I want to go there tomorrow," Don replied as he mentally braced himself for the protests that sure were to follow.

"Donnie, you can't," Alan started as he looked at his son with wide-open eyes.

"Why not?" Don defended his plan. "It's not like I can't move at all and I can sit down in the Temple. It's just… I missed today already and I really want to be there for the Chanukah celebration."

"I'll drive you," Charlie offered, which earned him an angry stare from his father. "Dad, this is obviously important to Don, so I really see no reason why he can't go. I'll drive him as close to the entrance as I can so he doesn't have to walk very far, and inside he can sit down."

Charlie looked at his brother and saw the grateful look on Don's face. It encouraged him to go on. "In fact, dad, I think you should come too. You can lend him a hand… It's been years since we've celebrated Chanukah as a family. What do you say?"

Alan still looked doubtful. He knew all that moving around was going to hurt his eldest son, but when he took a close look at Don he came to a decision. "All right, all right. We all go."

The warm smile that reached him made him realize he'd made the right call. "Which reminds me…" Alan moved over to the cupboard and opened a drawer. He took out a box with a black velvet cover and tenderly brushed one hand over it before turning around and moving towards the couch. "Here you go, Donnie. I think your mother would have liked you to have this."

Don stared at the box in his father's hands. He recognized it immediately and couldn't take his eyes off the Hebrew letters that his mother had embroidered there in silver thread.

Alan bent closer, with outstretched arms, holding the box in front of Don.

"Dad, I don't know," Don stammered, glancing at Charlie.

"It's yours, bro. Go on, take it," Charlie gave his brother an encouraging nod.

Don allowed his dad to balance the box on the palm of his free hand and then carefully set it on his lap. He stared at it in silence, his fingers brushing the embroidered letters. Then he took off the lid, setting it aside.

Inside lay a candelabrum made from silver, with a row of candles lying next to it. Don let his fingers run over the menorah, from the right to the left, as if he was checking if it was still in one piece. Then, gently, his fingers moved to pick it up and he lifted it out of the box, placing it on the table. He glanced at the window and realized the moment was perfect.

Selecting a candle, he put it in the holder on the right side of the menorah. He then got another candle out.

Without saying anything, David held out a cigarette lighter.

Don took it and lit the _shamash_. His father softly recited the first blessing. Don smiled, pleased that his dad had taken the honor, and then said the second blessing, which he still knew by heart after all those years.

As his father said the last blessing, which was only meant for tonight, the first night of Chanukah, Don softly whispered it with him. "Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam, shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. Amein."

With the _shamash_, Don lit the first candle, then placed the helper candle in its special position in the middle of the menorah.

He sat there in silence, staring at the light of the candles as he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over his aching ribs. With a slight wince he was unable to hide, he bent forward and took the dreidel out of the box. "Who wants to play?"

"Not me," Charlie immediately responded. "I'm driving you to the Temple tomorrow, I think that's enough."

"So, that's a, what do you call it, a dreidel?" David asked, remembering the description of the game Alan had given him.

Don spun the dreidel between his thumb and index finger. "Yeah."

"So, what does that mean, you've got about a twenty-five percent chance of one of those sides facing up after spinning?" David had to ask.

"Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that," Charlie jumped in, his mind already going over the variables he'd left out to the equation years ago.

"Not everything is numbers, Charlie," Alan said, rolling his eyes.

Charlie threw an annoyed glance at his father. "Everything is numbers, dad."

Don slid a bit forward on the couch, moved the dreidel into position on the table and gave it a spin. "Not this time, buddy."

David looked at the dreidel spinning. He watched how one of the Hebrew letters appeared face up after the dreidel fell down, took in the smile on Alan's face and saw Charlie's mouth falling open, which meant it must have been the winning Gimel.

"This time," Don said with a shrug, "it's all in the wrist."

**ENDE**


End file.
